Throwing myself at everyone that crosses my path? Is that what he really thinks? How stupid she had been. She had really thought that when she came here, he would accept her apology, reassure her even that it wasn’t warranted, that what happened last night was the start of something long overdue. He would tell her that although Clare was nice, a lovely girl, in fact, there was nothing serious between them, it was just a fling. As for Hill House, well, he had other contracts on the boil, far more lucrative. In turn, she would tell him she had made her choice and it wasn’t Alex. If all that was a bit farfetched, at least they would come to some sort of understanding. Build their friendship up again, slowly but surely, see where it led them. She couldn’t have been more wrong. They would never understand each other. They were poles apart, separated not just literally by a brick wall but metaphorically, too.
Caught up in this swirling maelstrom of thoughts, it was a second or two before she realized he was speaking again.
“Life was good before you came along. It was simple. I want that back. The sooner you leave the better.”
So life was good, was it? Before she showed up? Everything was simple? Not quite. Anger finally arose in her, smashing to pieces every other emotion. “Not for everyone it wasn’t. Not for Hannah.”
It was his turn to look surprised. “Hannah? What’s Hannah got to do with this?”
“I know about you and Hannah.”
“She told you?” he asked, his voice unnervingly quiet.
“That night, at the beach, when you turned up with Clare, she told me everything.”
“And what, you want to sit down and discuss it with me, do you? Find out the gossip from my side?”
“I don’t want to discuss anything with you,” she threw back at him. “I’m just trying to point out that everything wasn’t so bloody brilliant before I came along. Unless, of course, you get off on the fact that your best friend’s girlfriend is more in love with you than she is with him.”
Staring at each other in fury, Layla became aware of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she caught sight of Jim.
“Er, hi,” he said, his face ashen. “I just came in to drop off the rest of the timber we picked up today. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Shit! How long had he been standing there?
“Jim,” Joseph said, obviously wondering the same thing. “You’re not interrupting. It’s fine. I don’t know how much of that you heard—”
“Nothing, I heard nothing,” he interjected, that smile he wore so readily back on his face, but forced this time, she could tell. “Look, I…I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
And with that he turned round and left, literally running from the building.
“Fucking hell!” cried Joseph, running both hands through his hair.
“He’s lying, isn’t he? He did hear us?” said Layla, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“Of course he bloody did. Can’t you tell?”
Her hand flew to her mouth and tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea he was there. I would never have mentioned Hannah if I did. I feel awful.”
“And so you should. Hurting me, that’s one thing. Hurting Jim, that’s another matter entirely.”
“Joseph,” she pleaded, but it was no use.
“Just go. Get out of my workshop. I can’t stand the sight of you. You and Alex, you deserve each other. You’re two of a kind. Now go, before I really lose it.”
Really lose it? God, she didn’t think it was possible to be any angrier than he was at the moment. As Jim had done, she turned and fled, out into the early evening dusk, flinching as needles of ice in the air stung her face. She hurried past the pub without even glancing at it, past the grocers, past her favorite shop, Harvest Moon, past the closed cafés and the empty restaurants, running blindly until she reached home. Taking the stairs two at a time, she rushed into her bedroom, grabbed a bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, and shoved it full of clothes, shoes, and toiletries until it bulged at the seams. And then she collapsed, big heaving sobs engulfing her.
The way Joseph had looked at her! She couldn’t stay to endure that look again. And poor Jim, he must feel so betrayed. Hannah would feel betrayed too when she found out. She had asked Layla specifically to keep quiet, and what had she done? She had broken her confidence at virtually the first opportunity. Hannah would hate her just like Joseph hated her, and rightly so. She had to leave, go back to Brighton, to Alex. She really did have no choice now. She had taken everything that was good in life and destroyed it; unwittingly or not, it didn’t matter. The trouble was, she couldn’t drive right now, not in this state. It would be downright dangerous to do so. She’d crash before she reached the village outskirts, she was sure. No, she’d have to stay tonight, but in the morning, as soon as it was light, she would leave. She’d leave a note for Hannah, apologizing profusely, and a note for Lenny, doing the same. And then she would run back to where she had run from, the adventure was over.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“MUM! WHAT THE…?” Layla stumbled for words.
“There, that surprised you, didn’t it? One minute you’re talking to me on the phone, the next I’m here.”
“But, Mum, I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? To go where? Into the village? Not a problem, darling. I’ll come with you. Get cracking on the sightseeing straightaway.”
Damn, thought Layla, if only I hadn’t slept in this morning. She hadn’t meant to. She had meant to wake early, to be on the road by eight at the latest and back in Brighton just after lunchtime. Instead, it was midday when she’d opened her eyes, the emotional exhaustion of last night obviously having taken its toll. Despite having slept for much longer than normal, she had felt groggy since she’d got up, as though suffering from a killer hangover, albeit minus the alcohol intake. It was only in the last hour that she’d been able to contemplate a long journey. When her mother had knocked at the door, she’d been busy texting Alex to say she was coming “home.” Thankfully she hadn’t pressed the send button.
“Come on, darling. Don’t leave me on the doorstep. I’ve travelled a long way. I’m dying for a proper cup of English tea. Surely, there’s time for one before we head out?”
“Sorry, of course, come in.”
“Oh, look at you,” said Angelica, hugging her daughter tightly before holding her at arm’s length. “Actually, you look dreadful. Are you ill?”
Thanks, Mum. Just what I needed to hear. “It’s just a cold. I’m practically over it now,” Layla lied, praying her mother wouldn’t probe further.
“Hmm,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “Goodness! What a lovely cottage. It’s so sweet.”
Her mother looked around her and noticed Layla’s bag sitting prominently on the kitchen floor, all packed and raring to go.
“What’s that doing there, darling?” said Angelica, pointing to it.
“That? Oh, nothing. They’re, erm…they’re my summer clothes. I won’t need them for the duration of my stay so I thought I’d get them out of the way, put them into storage, so to speak.”
Two lies in as many minutes. Way to go, Layla.
“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” said Angelica airily. “Always have been. Must take after your father; it’s certainly not me. Put the kettle on.”
Wondering if she were actually still asleep and dreaming, Layla surreptitiously pinched herself as she walked over to the sink to fill the kettle. Wincing at the pain, she couldn’t deny she was indeed awake.
“Erm, how long do you intend on staying?” she asked as she filled a china cup rather than the usual mug and handed it to Angelica.
“A few days, if that’s okay.” Angelica took a sip of the hot caramel colored liquid. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she sighed. “When it comes to tea, the Italians just can’t compete. Coffee, now that’s a different matter, but tea…oh, God, that’s good.”
As her mother went into raptures over
what she was drinking, Layla thought, Shit, what am I going to do about the pub? If she stayed, she should work, but she couldn’t possibly venture into the Trecastle Inn. If she did, she would have to face Joseph, Hannah, Jim, and Mick. And she couldn’t do that; she just couldn’t.
Her mother had stopped talking about tea and started discussing her journey from Milan to Exeter instead, home of their nearest airport, from which she had ordered a cab to Trecastle, driven by a lovely man called Dan, apparently. Whilst she chattered away, Layla, as discreetly as possible, texted Tom, telling him her mother had turned up out of the blue and could he possibly cover her shifts for the next week, starting tonight.
An affirmative answer came back straight away, with Tom noting he was glad for the opportunity to earn extra cash.
If Layla had to stay a few days longer, at least she could keep away from the village pub, and when it came to sightseeing, she’d steer her mother further afield also. With a bit of luck and a hoodie thrown in as a means of disguise, she might be able to avoid just about everyone she knew.
Finishing her tea, Angelica said, “Right, I’m almost ready. Just let me freshen up a bit, put a bit of makeup on, then we can venture into the village. Might you want to do the same, darling?”
“No, Mum,” she replied tersely. “I’m fine. I’ll just wait here for you whilst you get ready.”
“Thank you, darling. I’m sure I look a fright too.”
She didn’t, not at all. She looked a million dollars, despite having just flown halfway across Europe. Decked in custom jewelry and designer clothing, Italian of course, her champagne-colored hair was swept into a sophisticated chignon, and her skin looked as soft as cotton candy. She was breathtaking, significantly younger looking than her very nearly fifty years.
“Before I do, though, show me round this little palace of yours. It really is very quaint. My friends back home, they’d kill for this, you know, despite the fact it’s so tiny. English charm, you see. This has it in buckets.”
Layla duly obliged. “Well, this is the kitchen, obviously.”
“Gorgeous. Oh, look, it’s got one of those Aga things.”
“It’s a Rayburn, actually,” said Layla, seizing her chance to feel superior if only for a second or two. “And yes, I had noticed.”
The living room also met with enthusiasm, although Layla couldn’t think why; it was a mess. There were magazines lying haphazardly around as well as a plate with yesterday morning’s half-eaten toast on it and a mug full with tea she’d ignored. She was going to tidy it before she went; she just hadn’t got round to it yet.
Pointing to one of Lenny’s books, Layla said, “That’s written by the man who owns this cottage, and look, on the wall, those are his paintings.”
“Wonderful. His artwork is nothing short of exquisite.”
Upstairs, she showed Angelica “Penny’s Room” first and then her own, Angelica fawning over the antique walnut wardrobe and fireplace just as Layla knew she would. As they were about to leave the bedroom to return to the kitchen, her mother let out an excited yelp. Turning, Layla saw her pointing toward the window.
“Look, darling,” she said, as though it were a revelation to her daughter as well as herself. “There’s Gull Rock, there in the distance.”
Layla walked back toward the window. “I know” was all she could think to reply. She felt sad that Angelica had no idea their days spent on Trecastle Beach, with Gull Rock in the distance, were amongst some of her most treasured childhood memories. This feeling soon gave way to horror, however, as Angelica turned to her with fire in her amber eyes.
“Come on, let’s go. Right now. I want to see it.”
“See what? The Rock?”
“Yes, Gull Rock.”
“But you haven’t changed. We haven’t unpacked. You must be starving. I am, come to think of it. Can’t it wait till later? Maybe even tomorrow? We could take a ride out to Port Isaac instead, have a late lunch there.” There should be no one I know in Port Isaac.
“No, it can’t wait,” said Angelica emphatically, “and I’m not hungry. I forced something hideous down on the plane. It quite ruined my appetite. Come on; let’s go. Carpe diem and all that.”
As her mother rushed out of the bedroom, Layla called out, “But your shoes. Change them, at least. You’ll break your neck in those.”
At the bottom of the stairs, her mother considered this point briefly before finally conceding, rummaging through her Louis Vuitton travel bag.
Holding a more suitable pair of flats triumphantly aloft, she said, “Right, don’t dawdle. This autumn sun won’t last. Shall we drive or walk?”
“Erm, I’ll drive. It’ll take about fifteen minutes to walk.”
“Fifteen minutes? That’s nothing. The exercise will do us good,” Angelica stated as she headed out of the door and into the subdued sunlight.
Layla followed suit, feeling a flush of excitement herself and marveling that she did so. This was one of the reasons her mother was loved so much by practically everyone she met: she was just so damned enthusiastic about everything. She was able to incite, even in her begrudging daughter, an incredible lust for living. What mattered to her was the moment and making the most of it; all that had gone before or was to come was superfluous to requirements. A philosophy that suits me down to the ground at the moment, thought Layla.
They walked at breakneck speed and reached the beach in record time. The tide was on its way out and the sands deserted. As soon as the path gave way to sand, her mother discarded her shoes and began running, setting an impressive pace as Layla struggled to keep up. As they raced, Angelica’s hair began escaping from its elegant bun. Reaching up, she removed the pins that secured it, letting it flow freely behind her, reminding Layla of how she’d been as a younger woman, although her hair had been much darker then, more dramatic. They soon reached the edge of the ocean and began kicking the cold, foamy water at each other, letting out high-pitched squeals of laughter as the ocean hit bare skin. They ran the length of the beach, and despite the age gap, Angelica was not as breathless as she was.
“Come on,” she bellowed over the cry of the sea birds. “Time for adventure.”
It was like being a child again, following in the footsteps of yesteryear. When they reached Merlin’s Cave, her mother went in first, as she always did, Layla following closely behind. Although it was dark inside, they managed to venture impressively far, further than she had gone with Penny and Hannah, encouraging each other on and frequently shouting to hear their voices bounce from wall to wall. After a while, the sandy bottom shelved dramatically and they could go no further; they’d be wet to their knees if they did. Standing for a while, soaking up the eerie silence, it was Layla who started giggling first, joined quickly by her mother before turning back toward daylight. As they emerged, the sun was sinking rapidly, the light starting to lose its battle against the late afternoon dusk.
Facing the ocean once more, Angelica said, “So what do you think? Can we do it now? Is the tide out far enough? Can we reach Gull Rock?”
Stunned to hear the words her mother had said to her so often in childhood, it was a minute or two before Layla could reply. “We can try,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.
Standing side by side, just staring at the huge slab of granite before them, it was Layla who spoke again. “You remembered, then?”
“Of course I remember. I will never forget the time I spent here with my little girl. Never.”
As her mother turned to her, Layla felt a lump the size of a beach ball catch in her throat. She looked into Angelica’s eyes, warily at first but then with increasing trust, and felt herself enfolded in her mother’s arms for the second time that day.
Although initially stiff, Layla quickly relaxed, and as she did so, the floodgates opened. Grief for her father, and for the mother she had lost too but in a different way, rose up inside her and burst through the cracks in the wall she had built so carefully since childhood. And she let
it. She let the wall just tumble down, brick by brick. All the while her mother held her, and with each new tear that fell the pain receded until she was able to break away and laugh, first in embarrassment but then with joy, real and utter joy.
Angelica started laughing too, and together they laughed and laughed for what seemed like an age before heading home, hand in hand, in silence.
Angelica stayed for the best part of a week, and Layla loved every minute of it. On their first night, after dinner, they had talked into the early hours. Well, Angelica had done most of the talking, but Layla had been happy to sit and listen, marveling at her mother’s account of life in Italy, the sort of people she was mixing with, European royalty, famous fashion designers, and billionaire business men and their exquisitely beautiful girlfriends, most of them established models or soon to be. Angelica laughed about them all, able to enjoy the glitz and glamour, without taking any of it too seriously.
“Giorgio is different,” she told Layla, “from most men I’ve known.”
“In what way?” asked Layla, intrigued.
“He’s genuine with a heart of gold. He has no agenda other than living life to the full, something that you know I try to do as well.” Smiling at Layla, she continued, “He’s good to me. He’s kind. But no one will ever replace your father. Never.”
Layla had been surprised at this revelation and gently encouraged her mother to elaborate. Seemingly happy to do so, Angelica talked about how she and Greg had met, fallen in love, and decided to marry, all within a year, despite being so young. He’d been twenty-one, she just twenty. She’d fallen pregnant with Layla straightaway, something they hadn’t planned but were over the moon about. For almost seven years, life had been perfect. Angelica had stayed at home to look after Layla. Greg had worked hard to provide them with a good standard of living. As an architect starting out, they didn’t have much in the way of material things, but they felt themselves rich in other ways. They did try to have a second child, she told Layla, but it never happened. It wasn’t something that concerned them anyway; they were enjoying Layla. There’d be plenty of time to add to their family later on, or so they thought.
The Runaway Year Page 20